Tag: humanity

The best people, like the best wines overcome chaos

Posted on Posted in culture, existentialism, wineTagged , , , , ,

Wine is one of the most peculiar, particular substances ever invented by humans. Try as winemakers do to control and perfect it, so much of its production is beyond their control: Grapes are as finicky as plants come. Weather is unpredictable. Soil and geography exist independently of humans and where we choose to work and live.

And yet, by growing simple grapes in some of the most inhospitable soils in some of the most unforgiving places on Earth, we create the most complex, most beautiful beverages.

Priorat wine is made possible only because the grapes stress and struggle.
Priorat is made from the otherwise unimpressive garnacha grapes. But when grown in windy, semi-arid conditions in shallow, nutrient-poor soils in the Catalonian foothills, garnacha must develop deep roots to find water and nutrients. The result is invigorating wines with rich cocoa, raspberry, and tobacco aromas that rival the best in the world.

Similarly, as humans, we stress. We toil. We often work against ourselves and against each other. We must resolve issues given to us by families we never chose. We must yield to authority we often do not agree with or choose. We must invent tools and means to overcome nature. We often lose.

Like wine, the best humanity has to offer is often born of and must learn to overcome chaos.

Yet, like wine, sometimes the greatest among us survive the worst conditions. These men and woman beat the odds so often stacked against them. They write the works of literature that last the ages. They compose the symphonies and sonatas humankind will listen to centuries in the future. They invent the most indispensable tools. They change how we live. They enrich our lives. Like the world’s finest wines, we revere them. We remember them. The best humanity has to create and to offer is often born of chaos.

The spirituality and sensitivity of broken skin

Posted on Posted in autoimmunity, dermatomyositis, existentialism, symptomsTagged , , , , , , , , ,

I look at the rashes covering my skin. I wonder if people notice, if the woman looking at me at the gym thinks I’m cute or just some monster.

Is God punishing me? Mocking me? Testing my faith? Has the devil come to collect the bill for the body I sold to keep my soul? Has Anubis weighed my heart against a feather and sentenced me to a watery, crocodilian hell?

Am I an evolutionary accident, some creature that should never have survived infancy, some being that should not be? Of the 20,000 genes in my body, should a single mutation change render me less than human?

Most people ask if I’m sunburned. I try to be polite, but how do I explain autoimmunity to the grandmother at the dermatology clinic, to the child at the store?

Before my first visit to the dermatologist two months ago, the rashes itched and burned so horribly I could not sleep—even with two antihistamines and melatonin. I could not sit in my own home with the fan on because the moving air scratched and irritated my skin. I hid under blankets to relieve the pain.

I’ve never been more thankful for prednisone.

The Hebrew Bible refers to skin diseases as tsara’at—meaning to be thrown down or humiliated. Those afflicted with these conditions were considered ritually impure; presumably, their disease was God punishing them for behaving immoral.

The Bible is not alone in its discussions of skin diseases nor are the Jews unique in their treatment of persons with them. As Philip D Shenefelt and Debrah A Shenefelt point out, across cultures, humans feel a spiritual connection with our largest organ, perhaps because it is the part of us most visible, and “persons with visible skin disorders have often been stigmatized or even treated as outcasts.”

Though we understand more than ever about skin diseases, though modern persons are not ostracized or forced to shout “unclean” as they walk down the street, I often still feel judged—even if the only one judging is the person looking back at me in the mirror.

Since being treated with corticosteroids, my symptoms have improved. My face is mostly clear, save for my Rudolph nose. The itching and burning is a fraction of what it was. I sleep better. I walk taller.

And hopefully, in time, my doctors and I will find a treatment to make my skin look new. In time, I will again feel human.